


A Different Song and a Different Battle

by Engineer104



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Mutual Pining, Poisoning, kind of?, more politics and plot than this fic has a right to have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28379667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: In the middle of a war, Felix sets foot on a different battlefield where the only way to win is to sway Claude von Riegan and the Alliance to the Kingdom's side. Unfortunately he doesn't have the patience for politics, but at least Annette's talents reach further than singing and blasting Wind spells at his enemies.Or: In Derdriu, Round Tables have heads and take sides; navigating a banquet can be trickier and more dangerous than navigating a battle; and Felix just wants to hang out with his sworn knight Annette.For the Secret Seteth netteflix gift exchange!
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35
Collections: Netteflix Secret Seteth 2020





	A Different Song and a Different Battle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookowl2000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookowl2000/gifts).



> this is for the inimitable Dee/Dena, an excellent writer and a lovely person all-around! she asked for a "bodyguard AU", so I hope you like it!
> 
> also i credit some inspiration to a sketch [Ruri](https://twitter.com/rurueroori?s=20) shared ages ago of mage knight Annette with a duke Felix and it would not leave my brain so i've played around in this AU rather more than i'm posting right now. might add more to it someday, who knows! for now, enjoy this installment!

Felix didn’t understand Alliance politics, except that it was infinitely more confusing than Kingdom politics. The leader of the Round Table didn’t have the authority of a king so much as he was a tiebreaker when the other four lords were at a deadlock.

And they’d been deadlocked for a month.

Every evening upon returning to his guest quarters in the Riegan manor in Derdriu he only just held himself back from slamming the door shut out of frustration. This one was no different, and not least because Claude von Riegan had still failed to sway Count Gloucester’s…sympathies.

“He’d be easier to persuade if we could convince Duke Goneril first,” Riegan had admitted. “Unfortunately House Goneril tends to be more concerned with our eastern border rather than our southwestern one even if the Almyrans have been quieter lately, so it’ll be up to us to get him on our side, right?” And then he’d flashed one of his dazzling grins, the one that Felix wasn’t sure he trusted.

Somehow Riegan himself had been easy to _persuade_ , but he couldn’t act without the Round Table’s authority behind him.

“And how are you supposed to ‘get’ him on your side?” Felix had demanded (he hadn’t wanted to loop himself in with them until he had the promise of troops they needed).

“Well, if there’s anything anyone with power and influence in the Alliance likes,” Riegan had said almost cryptically, “it’s a good party. One thing they have in common with Almyrans actually, even if it they are pretty tame by Almyran standards.”

Felix stared at him.

Riegan’s grin faltered. “Anyway, make sure you tell your devoted knight she’s invited too,” he said before clapping him on the back. “I’d love to get to know her better.”

He’d shrugged his hand away, swallowed a sudden and fierce flicker of irritation, and said, “Fine. Just make sure it’s worth our time.”

“More worthwhile than senselessly sparring with my men-at-arms and hired mercenaries, I’d think,” Riegan said.

Felix had decided then the conversation was over.

Now he fumbled with the buttons on his cuffs, glowering at them as if they’d personally inflicted this banquet, this diplomatic nonsense, this war on him. He wasn’t sure why the boar and his father trusted _him_ with it, and if left to his own devices he would’ve bungled it the instant he set foot in Derdriu.

Well, it probably was thanks to Annette’s inimitable charm that Riegan was willing to hear them out, even if the longer it took for him to sway the rest of the Round Table, the longer the war would rage, the closer the Empire would push towards Fhirdiad, the more lives would be lost, the—

He jumped when a sharp sequence of knocks sounded from the door, a distinct pattern he couldn’t mistake belonging to anyone but Annette.

He opened the door and found her on the other side, wearing a finer - and longer - dress than her usual, one with wide billowing sleeves and delicate embroidery on the bodice and a…lower neckline.

Felix cleared his throat before wondering, “Can you even fight in that?”

Annette’s eyes narrowed. She rested her hands on her hips - he pointedly stared at her forehead - and said, “Of course I can! I bet I can fight better in this than you can in what _you_ _’re_ wearing!”

He shifted his feet, wincing at the stiffness of his trousers and tugging at his high collar. “Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. Still, his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, its presence reassuring though he doubted he would have cause to draw it tonight (if only).

“Are you ready to—oh.” Her gaze caught on something on his shirt. “Your cravat is crooked.”

“What?” His face warmed as he reached for his cravat, but then she stepped closer and he could only freeze.

“Wait, let me…” The tip of her tongue poked out as she loosened the knot and retied it.

Felix’s fingers curled into fists at his side, as he held his breath so he wouldn’t breathe too much of her - or her floral perfume - in. Her hand seemed to ghost over his chest as she tucked it back under his shirt collar, right over where his heart beat against his ribs, and he could see how her hair spilled in loose curls around her face except for a pair of delicate braids connecting at the back of her head.

Annette stood closer than necessary, for longer than she needed to, but Felix had no desire to step away. Perhaps he could even—

She stepped back quickly enough her foot caught on the hem of her dress, but before his hand grasped her elbow she recovered her balance. Her face flushed as she flashed him a smile with a nervous edge to it, and she spun on her heel and said, “L-let’s go, before you make us late!”

His hand fell to his side and he shook himself, as if he could so easily wash away the sensation of Annette’s delicate but distant touch, before following.

Their footsteps didn’t echo through these corridors, not with the floor covered in rich, patterned rugs from the east. Most Alliance lords lived in manors rather than castles or fortresses, and despite the high walls protecting Derdriu Felix doubted the city could withstand a long siege.

But the Empire would have to march a long distance to reach it and cross the Airmid River from the Bridge of Myrrdin if they didn’t simply sail around the coast from Enbar. Then again, House Gloucester controlled the Bridge, and for all his weakness when it came to politics it had been obvious from the beginning - without Riegan’s warnings - that Count Gloucester made it a point to oppose the Alliance’s leader at every step.

And Felix thought Dimitri’s uncle’s court had been bad.

It only made dread coil tighter in his abdomen. His pace faltered as they descended into the high ceilinged entryway, where a few other guests streamed towards the dining hall. Annette, as attuned to him as ever, halted alongside him and asked, “What’s wrong, Felix?”

Felix…not “my lord” like she’d taken to calling him when in the presence of any of the lords of the Round Table as if to emphasize a respectful distance. Her brow furrowed very slightly, and the back of her hand brushed his.

The gesture sent goosebumps up his arm. “This is a waste of time,” he told her, not for the first time. The back of his neck burned under too many eyes, and he glared at a tall woman that didn’t hesitate to glare back.

Annette, of course, didn’t fail to notice. “The Hero of Daphnel is not someone we want to offend,” she chided him. “Also she’s old enough to be your mother and she talks to Duke Riegan like she’s _his_ mother, so stop that.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Felix retorted.

“You looked like you were sizing her up for a duel,” she said, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “The Alliance lords don’t look kindly on duels.”

“Would that I could challenge Count Gloucester to one to sort this out,” he grumbled.

“Well, I’ve done some research on the possibility of that since I guessed it might come up,” she said, “and you can’t challenge any member of the Round Table directly.”

“Oh, good,” Felix said. “I suppose you’re about to tell me there’s a way to challenge one indirectly?”

“As it turns out, Count Gloucester’s heir is your age,” Annette informed him with a spark in her eye. Her lips curved into the barest hint of a smirk right before faltering again as she continued, “Normally I wouldn’t encourage you to seek a duel, but…”

“But we can’t afford to deliberate any longer,” he said, unable to help the sigh escaping him. “It’s an idea. If nothing changes after tonight, I might resort to that.”

Annette’s eyebrows drew together in an obvious sign of displeasure. “There has to be something else we can do to speed this along,” she said. “Just…something that doesn’t involve putting you at risk like that.”

Felix scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s less risky than a battle,” he reminded her.

“I’m with you in battle,” she said. “I can’t be with you to protect you during a duel.”

Her words were a simple affirmation of her duty, yet he still found himself at a loss of how to reply. She didn’t quite look at him, and that irritated him almost as much as the bitter reminder that she was only here, with him, for that duty.

“It would be to first blood,” he said, and every word felt as if dragged from his throat with a hook, “not to the death. And I can hold my own without—”

“Good evening, Lord Fraldarius, Dame Annette.” Riegan himself approached then, hands clasped behind his back as he offered them each a nod. “Why do you look so glum? This is a banquet, and I promise the food is diverse and exceptionally tasty.”

Felix bit back his automatic response - that his country was being invaded while Riegan’s threw him a damn feast - and settled on, “I’m not one for banquets.”

“And I am not at all surprised,” Riegan said. He glanced at Annette and offered her a smile and an arm. “My lady, I would be happy to escort you into the dining hall since your liege lord looks like he’d rather wallow in his glumness.”

“Oh, well, I should…” She looked to Felix, who could think of no real excuse for her to stay, before smiling at Riegan and resting her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Your Grace!”

“Please, we’re all friends here,” Riegan said with a warm chuckle that nevertheless set Felix on edge. “Call me Claude.”

“Would that we were allies instead,” he grumbled under his breath as he watched him tow Annette away.

She peeked over her and Riegan’s shoulders as they drifted away, but rather than the worry he expected to flit over her face, she scowled at him and her lips shaped the words, _Be nice!_

He rolled his eyes but glimpsed Annette smiling - for _him_ \- before she turned away again.

Felix followed more slowly, as reluctant to enter the dining hall with all that chatter drifting from within as he was being parted from Annette. His hand curled into a fist, trying not to let his gaze linger on her and Riegan and noticing how they conversed so easily - as she had gotten on with him better than he did - as they delved deeper into the hall. He stood in the doorway, alone even in the midst of a crowd, as Riegan guided Annette to a seat at the lower table.

Another thing feeding his reluctance. Felix would be stuck sitting at the high table with the five principal Alliance lords while Annette, only a knight and his house’s vassal, sat amid the minor lords and whatever influential merchants Riegan saw fit to invite.

Eventually - because he could only get away with loitering for so long - he let a servant show him to his seat, and as the meal commenced Felix tried his best (which was not very good) not to let his discomfort or displeasure show.

It didn’t help that he sat between a young woman who kept trying to drag him into a conversation he didn’t particularly want to have and a young man who kept trying to speak to _her_ over his head, not when he’d rather focus on his food and will the banquet to its end.

He was considering the pluses and minuses of simply standing and crossing the hall to sit with Annette - because the goddess knew she was the only person in attendance he could tolerate - propriety and manners be damned, only for the pink-haired woman beside him to note, “You do know why dear old Claude seated us together, right?”

Felix flinched. His grip on his fork tightened as he recalled what he knew of her: daughter of Duke Goneril, younger and much doted upon sister of the reputed general Holst Goneril, and a close friend of Duke Riegan’s.

“I suppose it wasn’t just to irritate me,” he mumbled.

The Goneril girl laughed, and her almost elegant giggles grated on his nerves. “It would be just like Claude to arrange his seating for _such_ petty reasons, but he really does want to help the Kingdom, you know. Or King Dimitri, really.”

“What does that have to do with me sitting next to you?” Felix wondered. Because if Riegan had anything to do with this…well, it couldn’t be good.

Goneril stared at him with obvious disbelief on her face. She sipped from her wine before asking, “Are all Kingdom nobles so naive, or are you just a special case?”

“I have enough of everyone else in here talking circles around me,” he retorted, “so I would appreciate it if you could speak plainly.”

“Oh, then less naive and more impatient, got it.” Her flippant tone belied the careful way she regarded him from over her glass. “My father doesn’t want to vote to help you.”

“I am aware,” Felix groused, “so unless you have some insight on how I can convince him—”

“Oh, I do,” said Goneril with a sigh that had to be dramatized. She set her wine down and rested a hand on his arm. “But from the way you keep looking over there at your knightly companion I have a feeling you won’t like it.”

He stiffened as he stared down at her hand before pulling his arm away. He couldn’t help his gaze flitting over to where Annette, sitting with her dinner plate half-full before her (this course was probably too spicy for her), nodded along with something the woman beside her was saying.

Something he wouldn’t like…something to do with Annette…something—

It clicked, and it took all his self-control not to bolt to his feet and march down the table to introduce Riegan to his fist.

“Riegan wants a marriage alliance,” Felix growled. His hands curled into fists on the table as he fought to master his growing anger.

“You don’t have to look like you hate the idea that much,” Goneril said, frowning. “It’s a little offensive!”

“I’m a little offended he didn’t ask me himself,” he snapped.

Then again, why should he? It wasn’t up to him, it would be up to Annette, but she was a sworn vassal to his house, so she couldn’t just leave.

But if she agreed then how—

“Well, it’s not his life!” Goneril cut into his thoughts. When Felix glared at her she batted her eyelashes at him. “You’re really going to make a lady do all the work?”

He began to wonder if they were even having the same conversation. It did little to calm the storm raging in his chest, so he said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Goneril’s perpetual, cloying smile slipped. “I’m trying to throw you a bone,” she said. “If you and I tie the knot, my father doesn’t have a good reason to deny the Kingdom his support.”

It took longer than he would ever care to admit for her words to penetrate his mind, but when they did a stone dropped into his gut. “Did I…hear you right?”

Goneril picked at the perfectly flaky fish on her plate and said, “What, don’t tell me you never grew up with the prospect of an arranged marriage hanging over your head.”

He reached for his own glass for lack of anything else to do, because he’d been naive enough not to expect something like _this_. He remembered Glenn growing up with wedding Ingrid looming over him at the same time he never seemed to mind it (it didn’t help that he’d actually _doted_ on Ingrid and she’d eaten it up). It was, as Goneril mentioned, a reality, but not one he often grappled with since he rejected the one arrangement his father had tried to suggest to him.

After that he’d extracted a promise, and they never spoke of marrying Felix off again.

Not that Riegan would’ve gotten the message. His eyes slid to Annette, watching her laughing at something her table mate said. But her gaze caught his and she smiled just a little wider.

His breath stuck in his throat, and he couldn’t tell if the heat unfurling in his chest was painful or pleasant.

He jumped when a hand touched his and jerked his head around to find Goneril peering at him with a smile he didn’t trust curving her painted lips. “What now?” he demanded.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know,” she said.

“Mind what?” he said. “Marrying me so the Kingdom can have more troops?”

“Well, sure,” she said, shrugging more carelessly than he would’ve expected. “As long as I get a comfy life out of it, and you’re really not terrible on the eyes. But I don’t mind if you…” She angled her head across the dining hall and winked.

Felix did not understand anything that was going on anymore. “What?”

“Ugh, I really do have to spell everything out for you,” Goneril whined. She tapped manicured fingernails against the table and sighed. “You and her.”

“Me and—wait, Annette?”

The look she leveled at him was remarkably flat. “Don’t tell me the two of you aren’t lovers,” she said, “because I will not believe you.”

Felix’s jaw flapped uselessly, stunned that, once she ceased speaking in riddles, she would make that assumption. It didn’t help that heat rushed to his face, and when his voice finally returned to him it cracked as he said, “Annette and I are _not_ —”

“Lord Fraldarius,” a loud, pompous voice cut in, and Felix was never happier to be interrupted by someone so obnoxious as Count Gloucester, “if I may beg your attention from Lady Hilda for a moment?”

The young man seated at Felix’s other side hastened to stand, his chair nearly toppling over. “Father,” he said with a shallow - but respectful - bow.

Goneril, on the other hand, didn’t bother standing as she said, “Oh, but I like having his attention, my lord!”

Felix found the hilt of his sword at his waist and briefly entertained a fancy of drawing it and fighting his way from the banquet hall. Indeed, he felt Annette’s eyes on him, round with worry - though he couldn’t tell if the risk that he _might_ take leave of whatever manners (and sense) he possessed outweighed her usual concern for his safety.

Well, he doubted he was in any real danger at the moment, though his heart raced fast enough it didn’t seem convinced of that. The noise of the hall crescendoed, louder and more oppressive, while Felix tugged at his collar and resisted the urge to loosen his cravat.

“Are you all right, Fraldarius?” the young man - Count Gloucester’s son - beside him asked. “You seem rather—”

“I’m fine,” Felix lied.

Count Gloucester himself offered him a thin smile. “Claude von Riegan’s banquets are a bit overmuch, aren’t they?” he said. “Well, the menu tonight is quite impressive, I’ll give him that.” His gaze slid down to Felix’s more or less untouched wine glass. “It’s a fine vintage tonight,” he said with a light touch to the glass’s side. “The grapes are from my own vineyards.”

Annette would know what inane but _polite_ response to give him, but all Felix could think to say was, “Good for you.”

“If I may ask, Lord Fraldarius,” said Count Gloucester, “how did you sway young Riegan to your side? He’s hardly the sort to involve himself in a war.”

Felix gripped his fork like a dagger and stabbed the slab of meat on his plate with it as he explained, “He’s smart enough to understand that the Adrestian Emperor won’t stop with toppling the Church and conquering Faerghus. She’ll come for Leicester next.”

“And are there not other ways to halt her progress than fighting her?” Count Gloucester asked.

“Not unless you intend to roll over and let her take everything from you anyway,” he said.

“I doubt that would be the fate of someone who surrendered peaceably,” retorted the count, though there seemed a thoughtful twist to his frown. “I confess to reluctance to give my own support. There is simply no guarantee that allying ourselves with Faerghus would benefit Leicester in any real way, and as the fair lady Hilda will testify Almyran barbarians are a far greater concern.”

“Please do not drag me into this,” Goneril mumbled under her breath.

Count Gloucester ignored her - and ignored his own son, who practically squirmed as if bursting with something else to add. “I sympathize with your country’s plight, Lord Fraldarius,” he said, “but you will never have my vote no matter what twisted games you and our so-called Duke Riegan play.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He nodded to Felix, to Goneril, and to his son in turn before retreating back down the table to his own seat.

Felix didn’t relax, only tightened his grip on his fork. His appetite shriveled into nonexistence, and the banquet hall only felt more sweltering as he sought Annette with his eyes again.

Beside him, Gloucester’s son prattled, “I do, ah, apologize for my father, Lord Fraldarius. He is unfortunately the sort to mix business with pleasure.”

“Your mother must hate that,” Goneril mused with a giggle.

“My m—Hilda, what exactly are you trying to imply?”

Felix tuned out their conversation, succumbing to the chaos of his thoughts. Had this whole charade been for nothing if he couldn’t convince Count Gloucester and if the only way to persuade Duke Goneril was to marry the man’s daughter?

Claude promised that Margrave Edmund would vote in their favor while Count Ordelia, though sympathetic, hesitated to offer his full support. It was all too much, staring a colossal failure in the face and cursing Dimitri and his father for sending him here, and cursing himself for letting them convince _him_ he could accomplish anything far from any battlefield.

And inside the banquet hall, amid so many loud conversations, amid so much unearned _levity_ , it was just too damn hot.

Felix picked up his glass and threw half of it back, grimacing at the cloying sweetness of the wine. It was worse than the molasses apothecaries used to disguise the flavor of vulnerary, and Gloucester had been _proud_ of it?

Well, Felix was scarcely an expert on wines, and this one did little to cool him off. No, what he needed was to slip away, to find some cool, quiet balcony where he could think and clear his head.

He shoved his chair backwards and stood.

“Oh, and where are you going?” Goneril wondered.

Felix didn’t dignify her with an answer. Wasn’t it obvious he just needed to be _away_?

But before charging for the door once he slipped around the high table, he started across the hall towards Annette. She wouldn’t like him disappearing from her sight, though she would follow him. His evening might even be improved if she did.

But Claude stood just behind her, bending down to whisper directly into his ear. Unlike usual no smirk played about his lips, and Annette’s brow furrowed.

Something ugly and angry flared in his chest. He scowled as he stalked towards them, intent on stopping whatever new scheme Claude had concocted before he could ensnare Annette.

Her gaze snapped to Felix halfway across the hall to her.

He froze at a sudden rush of dizziness as if he rose from his seat too quickly. The faces of other guests and servants milling about blurred, and the polished stone floor tilted under his feet. He took another step and only swayed, and when he extended an arm in search of something to balance against he found nothing.

He fell, his stomach roiling and cramping. He hadn’t felt this dreadful and nauseous since the first days after sailing from Fhirdiad, when he spent half his time on deck trying not to empty the contents of his stomach while Annette failed to ply him with a tonic that would help with seasickness but knock him out for a few hours.

(”What if we’re attacked?” he’d asked.

“You’re too sick to fight anyway!” she’d retorted.)

Distantly he heard a commotion around him, chairs falling and footsteps thundering, but muted as if it filtered in through a closed door. His heart beat in his ears, drowning it all out, and the sound of the coughs wracking his chest.

Felix thought he recognized Claude’s polished boots approaching, along with a shout to a servant to retrieve his “kit” and another deeper, vaguely familiar and accusatory voice saying something about poison. And above it all, a too-pale, blurry face falling level to his, small, firm hands closing around his arms before fumbling for his cravat.

“…sorry! I’m sorry, he warned me this might—if I can just loosen this stupid…Felix!”

His eyelids were too heavy, and his lungs ached with the effort to draw breath, but still Felix tried to tell Annette, “…miserable banquet…without you…”

Her grip on him tightened, and the last thing he knew before the darkness engulfed him was her warm hand on his face and her voice begging him to stay awake.

* * *

Felix woke, disoriented and confused by everything from the color of his bed linens and the air itself too balmy and warm for his bedchamber at home. His heart skipped a beat in alarm, and he reached for his sword where he left it propped against the bedside table.

He couldn’t find his sword.

He shot up, but before he could jump out of bed and take proper stock of where he was, a shiver of weakness overtook him. His head felt stuffed with cotton with a dull ache at the back, but he couldn’t remember drinking much at—

The banquet. All the more reason to get out of bed, to find Claude or any one of his men-at-arms and demand what happened, but only after he found Annette and made sure whatever the hell befell him hadn’t struck her too.

Felix carefully, slowly sat up but failed to avoid another dizzy spell, yet he gritted his teeth against it and swung his feet out of bed. He cursed his own weakness as he stood on shaky legs, one hand propped against the wall, but before he could take a single step towards the door someone knocked.

“W-what do you want?” Felix demanded, his voice cracking. His mouth was so dry…

“Charming as always,” a familiar voice - if not the most welcome - called. “Are you decent, Fraldarius?”

He sat again on the edge of his bed, unable to help an exasperated sigh. “Yes,” he said. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I have some updates you might be interested in,” Riegan replied, “and—”

“Where’s Annette?” Felix wondered. “Is she…unhurt?”

“Oh, she’s fine!” Riegan assured him in a chipper tone that grated on his ears. “Worried about you though, so she’ll probably be glad to see you awake. Can I come in now, or do you still want to interrogate me?”

What Felix wanted was to see Annette for himself, make sure she was whole and healthy with his own eyes rather than on the word of someone he didn’t really trust. But he had an awful, creeping feeling that he owed his continuing ability to draw breath to Claude von Riegan.

So he sighed and said, “Fine. Come in.”

The door opened to admit Riegan, dressed down in shirtsleeves and even a little unkempt with his hair sticking up at the back. He crossed his arms as he all but sauntered in before tapping his chin and observing, “You look a lot better than last time I saw you.”

Felix narrowed his eyes at him. “I feel…like shit,” he admitted.

“I’d bet you still feel better than you did last night.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not going to ask what happened to you?”

Felix gingerly felt along his ribs and chest, then, when he found no bandages or evidence of injury, said, “Either the food you served at the banquet didn’t agree with me or I was…” He didn’t want to say it. Of all the awful, humiliating ways for someone to harm him, it had to be a method he couldn’t even wield a sword against.

At least Annette wouldn’t—

“Yes, you got poisoned.” Riegan leaned against the wall opposite the bedside table. “You’re lucky to be alive, I almost didn’t get the antidote to you in time.”

“H-how?” Felix asked. He raked his hair away from his face and sighed. “And _why_?”

“Not going to ask who?” he noted.

“A coward who couldn’t fight me in a contest of strength?” he scoffed.

Riegan shrugged, as if he disagreed with that designation but didn’t care to argue the point. “Maybe think a bit about who could benefit seeing you dead,” he suggested. “Or, better yet, think who here has a reputation for poisoning his enemies to avoid complicated…entanglements with them.”

“ _You_ poisoned me?” Felix’s first impulse was to stand, but he nearly fell over so settled with crossing his arms and glaring before noting Riegan’s slight smirk and… “Someone was trying to frame you by poisoning me.”

“And you, knowing I’ve been on your side this entire time, nearly fell for it too.” Riegan shook his head and laughed, though even Felix wasn’t too daft to see through it.

“You could’ve been playing some other game,” said Felix.

“Going between every lord that sits at the Round Table and trying to convince them that going to war on Faerghus’ side against the Empire would be a good idea?” He rolled his eyes. “If I wasn’t committed to that, I could’ve just turned you and Annette and your whole party away the instant you set foot in the Port of Derdriu.”

Damn him, he was right. If Riegan hadn’t wanted to ally himself with the Kingdom, Felix never would’ve made it this far, whether the whole process only provided him with a headache and might still prove to be a waste of time or not.

“Someone who doesn’t like you then,” Felix guessed. “I can’t imagine that’s a short list.”

Riegan chuckled. “Should I include you as a suspect too?” When he scowled, he said, “I guess I’ll spare you the details, but I’m _pretty_ sure Count Gloucester’s responsible. He’s always opposed me and my grandfather, and there are rumors he arranged an accident for my uncle, all in the interest of unseating House Riegan from its place at the head of the Round Table.”

Felix didn’t ask how a “round” table could have a head, but his words did make…sense after everything that happened before the banquet and Count Gloucester’s constant opposition to an alliance.

So much for challenging his heir to a duel to press him to commit.

“Gloucester approached me during the banquet,” he admitted. “Perhaps it was then he…poisoned my food or drink, unless he sent someone by proxy.”

“That’s definitely possible,” Riegan conceded. “If he did have something to do with my uncle’s death, I doubt he dirtied his own hands.” He straightened from the wall and rested his hands on his hips. “Still, if I were you I’d keep your cute knightly companion close at hand till you’re out of his reach, or until I find the evidence to bring charges against the good count.” He winked. “Either way, I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole incident doesn’t sway one of the holdouts to your side. Maybe even Count Gloucester himself if I make good on a few threats.”

“Where _is_ Annette?” Felix demanded then. Perhaps a part of him expected her to be close by when he woke, and perhaps that part of him felt the keenness of disappointment heavy in his unsettled gut.

“Resting, I hope,” Riegan said with a disparaging shake of his head. “She tried her best to wear out my nice rugs with her pacing, at least till I insisted she rest and I’d fetch her if you woke.”

“Then—”

“You’d do well to rest too, Felix,” he added with an almost stern air. “The poison shouldn’t be in your system anymore, but it still did some damage. You probably won’t feel well for another couple days.”

Felix stared at his hands, clenched into fists in his lap. Figured that even so far from a battlefield a foe would try to kill him - and with a weapon he couldn’t see.

But Claude von Riegan _had_ saved his life, and he could’ve been blamed for his death. So he swallowed his pride, cleared his throat, and said, “Thank you.”

Riegan waved away his gratitude. “Just make sure Dimitri wins the war,” he said. “If he doesn’t, I don’t have much hope for a peaceful and open Fodlan.” And with such solemn parting words, he left.

No sooner had the door shut behind him and Felix leaned back against a pillow, his head heavier than it was before that wearying conversation, than the door burst open again and Annette stormed in. He tried to sit up to greet her, or at least make sure she didn’t think him a complete invalid, but she stomped through the room, barely stumbling over a chair that threatened to trip her, towards him. Her eyes widened when they landed on him, intent and searching, before she reached him and flung her arms around his neck.

He stiffened, trapped with a warm Annette gripping him, her frizzing hair in his mouth and tickling his chin. His heart beat against his ribs, but he carefully returned her embrace, letting her draw him in, feeling her trembling in his arms. Her fingers clutched at the back of his sleep shirt, but eventually she drew away from him to perch at the edge of his bed.

Felix let her go, his arms heavy with reluctance, but a warmth unfurled in his chest when she took one of his hands. He took the chance the silence offered him to look her over, noting that she wore her usual clothes - the simple but movable dress, a mail vest, a sheathed knife and pouch at her belt - but that her hair stuck up in odd directions and that her eyes were red as if she’d been…crying.

He tugged at her hand when she didn’t quite look at him, as the silence became too much even for him. “I’m fine,” he told her, because he knew she was worried.

He was her charge, she was his retainer and protector - and he’d long since given up on insisting he didn’t need someone to cover him in battle. If he died or some other harm befell him under her eye, she would have failed.

And so it had always been.

With her other hand Annette wiped at her eyes and sniffled. “I…Claude warned me something might happen right before it—right before you collapsed,” she mumbled without looking at him. “Maybe I—”

“What would you have done differently?” Felix wondered. He rubbed his face, and though his whole body ached for rest he resisted its push.

“I would’ve—I don’t know,” Annette said with a sigh. “I didn’t expect poison.”

“You expected an attack then.” He snorted and stared up at the ceiling. “I could’ve fended an attack off too. Might’ve made the banquet more interesting for me, but it probably would’ve ruined it for you.”

He probably should’ve been able to predict the glare Annette leveled at him, yet still he raised an eyebrow and said, “What?”

“What do you mean, _what_?” she snapped, and how she raised her voice with obvious frustration was at odds with how she still held his hand. “Someone poisoned you, Felix!”

He squeezed her hand. “And I’m fine,” he said.

She frowned at him, the simple expression full of so much skepticism the Church would be tempted to excommunicate her. “Felix, I…it was something I couldn’t protect you from,” she said. “What if Claude had been a little too slow with the antidote, or—”

“Then I would’ve been spared enduring his conversation,” Felix replied even as a chill crawled down his spine. “I don’t think we should dwell on what could’ve happened, Annette.”

“Not even to prevent it?”

“Well, I know not to let Count Gloucester anywhere near my food anymore,” he told her.

Her expression darkened at the mention of his would-be assassin. “I’d like to see how eager he is to hurt you with one of my spells at his—”

“I doubt he’ll try again,” Felix cut her off. Her vehemence chased away a lingering chill almost as much as it alarmed him.

Her eyes met his, briefly, until he had to look away. “You don’t know that for sure,” Annette said.

“I doubt he’ll try again in the exact same manner then,” he amended. “I’ll keep my sword close and sharpened, don’t worry.”

“You don’t look you’d be able to lift it,” she admitted.

Felix couldn’t help his grimace or the sigh that escaped him. “A few days rest first,” he said. “I suppose you’ll have to protect me until I feel well again.” The thought of her hurt on his behalf - _again_ \- never failed to make him feel ill, but he didn’t doubt her ability or strength in keeping him alive.

“Rest then,” Annette said. “I can tell you can barely keep your eyes open.” Her free hand cupped his cheek, small and warm and gentler than any knight’s hand had a right to be. “I’ll be here, Felix.”

His eyelids were so heavy… “Rest with me,” he managed to say, and perhaps if sleep wasn’t threatening to take him he would’ve thought better of voicing such a heartfelt desire.

Her eyes widened. “What?” she said. “I couldn’t…I need to watch over you for one, and for another it wouldn’t be—”

“Riegan told me you’ve barely rested since the banquet,” Felix told her, “and you know damn well what I think of propriety, especially so far from home.”

Annette rolled her eyes, but the first true smile he’d seen on her since she barged into his bedchamber stretched across her face. “All right,” she said. “Just this once then, but only because your bed is more comfortable than mine.”

He snorted but made room for her beside him, beckoning for her to lie down.

She took off her boots, her belt, and her mail shirt before lying on her side beside him, her back to him and her posture still tense. He rested a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her - or maybe reassure himself and calm his racing heartbeat.

Felix’s breath stuck in his lungs, but Annette relaxed, and eventually so did he. Even with a sliver of a gap between them, her warmth engulfed him and her scent tickled his nose, and he listened for the sound of her breathing, a more soothing chorus than anything he ever heard her sing.

The threads of a dream threatened to drag him under, until Annette’s voice pulled him back.

“What?” he mumbled, his lips clumsy around the single word.

Her hair brushed his cheek, and a weight - her head - rested on his shoulder. “You…I…” He felt more than heard her sigh. “Sweet dreams, Felix.”

He might’ve turned his head enough to kiss her hair, or he might’ve dreamed it. And this whole debacle of farcical negotiations and a banquet could’ve been a nightmare.

In this moment, even with his head foggy and half-asleep, Annette lying beside him almost in his arms felt more real than anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to check out the collection for more fics and the [Secret Seteth account](https://twitter.com/nttflx_exchange) for everyone else's amazing gifts!


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